There's a certain kind of dark-crusted sourdough bread I'm incapable of resisting. A sixth sense alerts me anytime I veer within a three-block radius of a bakery offering tangy country loaves with mahogany crusts. Without fail, I'll make my way inside and buy one, even if there's already half a loaf growing stale on my countertop.
Hello, my name is Samin, and I'm an artisanal-bread hoarder. The only way I can justify the addiction is to challenge myself to use up every bit. The most satisfying (and efficient) use I've found for the glut of stale bread at my disposal is panade.